


None Of My Business

by saiyanshewolf (gossamerstarsxx)



Series: Shot Through the Heart [9]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Anxiety, Awkward Tension, Claustrophobia, Dangerous Situations, Deathclaws, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Panic Attacks, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Tight Spaces, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 14:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16451381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamerstarsxx/pseuds/saiyanshewolf
Summary: MacCready and Antha are surprised by a deathclaw, and the only place to hide is an old Pulowski Preservation Shelter.





	None Of My Business

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Minor mention of throwing up.
> 
>  **Notes** : I saw a 'companions react' prompt on tumblr forever ago about being stuck in a preservation shelter with the Sole Survivor. This happened. Set very early on in their partnership, probably not long after _Vault Girl & the Super Mutants_. I love the idea of MacCready desperately not wanting to care about the SS but he's powerless to keep it from happening.

MacCready hears it before Antha does.

The growl is low, throaty, almost a gurgle...but unmistakable, and it sends a cold bolt of fear down his spine. He turns his head and sure enough, there are the massive horns sticking out from behind a crumbling concrete wall, not even fifty yards away.

The hair on the back of MacCready's neck prickles. It hasn't caught wind of them yet.

_If we turn around right now...if we stay quiet..._

The deathclaw lifts its ugly head and sniffs. It growls again, louder this time, and turns toward them.

"Shit." MacCready doesn't notice what he's said. Hands shaking, he reaches out and grabs Antha's belt. "Boss, we need to...!"

Concrete crunches beneath its clawed feet as the deathclaw rounds the edge of the ruin, snarling low in its throat, sweeping its great head back and forth as it searches for the prey it has scented but not yet seen.

Panic swells in his chest and he reacts on instinct, giving Antha no time to answer or even acknowledge him before he grabs her around the waist and pulls her in against his body, dragging her backward toward the scratched and dented Pulowski Preservation Shelter they had passed moments earlier and shoving an elbow into the 'activate' button. There is nowhere to hide in this ruined little suburb and no time to make a run for it.

Much to MacCready's relief, the automated voice is weak, garbled. The door slides open and he snatches Antha in after him, pushing the inner button just as the deathclaw straightens its hunched back and throws its claws wide, screeching at the sky.

Warm, dusty darkness closes around them. After a moment a dim, yellow light flickers to life. The robotic voice tries to speak, but the programming is too degraded; what comes out is a slow, stuttering gibberish that soon fades out into low static and finally nothing.

MacCready holds his breath, oblivious to how stiff Antha is in his arms. The deathclaw's rumbling growl is growing closer, but it doesn't seem to be in a great hurry. The ground beneath them isn't trembling yet, at least.

As he lets out a shaky sigh, he notices Antha, tense as stone, breathing in harsh little gasps...and close, so close, closer than she has ever been, every curve and dip of her body fitting against his own. Heat creeps up from his collar and into his cheeks and he wonders if he should have thought this through more. The preservation shelters are sturdy, but designed to fit one person, not two...let alone two people and their sniper rifles. His digs into his side while Antha's jabs into the back of his arm.

The arm still wrapped around her waist.

"Mac?" Antha's voice is high, wavering somewhere between fury and terror. "Mac, what the fuck?!"

He flinches away from the reproach, glad that she can't see his face; she's never spoken to him like that.

"Deathclaw," he mutters. "Damn thing's heading straight for us. There was nowhere else to hide. Let's hope it didn't notice us and it'll move on."

To his shock Antha tries to jerk away, slamming her elbow into the wall in the process.

"I'd rather face the goddamn deathclaw!"

As she speaks the creature in question lets out another chilling snarl. It's closer now - less than ten yards from the shelter.

MacCready can't see well in the shadows and Antha is still fighting him, but his eyes have adjusted enough that he catches Antha's hand before it reaches the dim glow of the button that opens the door. Fear pierces his mind like a dart and he grabs both her wrists, pinning them against her chest in a reverse bear hug. Outside, the deathclaw bellows in frustration.

"Are you insane?!" MacCready hisses, pulse pounding in his ears as Antha tries to wrestle him away.

"Let me go!" She snarls. "I told you, I'd rather deal with the deathclaw!"

"If you had a missile launcher and power armor instead of a sniper rifle and a Vault suit I'd let you," he snaps, tightening his hold as she struggles, "But you don't, and I don't much feel like dying today just 'cause you wanna get away from me!"

"This isn't about you," she spits, "It's this thing! This fucking shelter thing! There's not enough...it's...it's too goddamn small in here, I can't stand it!"

"Yeah, well, you don't have much choice." As if to reinforce his point, the ground shudders as the monster outside the door lets out another screech. "I'm pretty sure the pit of that thing's stomach is a lot friggin worse."

"Goddammit Mac, please!"

Antha's voice cracks. Guilt floods him at the sound of it and he pauses, realizing that the tension in Antha's body has nothing to do with him after all. The rise and fall of her chest beneath his arms is too quick, too shallow, and they are so close that he can feel her pulse racing through her back.

"Please," she says again, voice tight. "Please, Mac, you can stay. Okay? I'll just - I'll run, I'll take my chances! Please let me out, okay? I've got to get out, I can't stand it, I can't, I can't!"

_She's panicking. Christ._

"Sorry," he answers, torn between genuine concern and his waning determination to keep Antha at an emotional arm's length. "Letting you get eaten alive by a mutated Jackson's chameleon wasn't in the contract. Breathe, you'll be fine, all right?"

Antha does not breathe. She makes a sound not unlike the snarling deathclaw as she writhes in his grip, as if she's considering smashing her forehead into the activate button if that is what it takes. Alarmed, MacCready lifts her off her feet and swings her around, away from the button. As he moves his rifle scratches his hip, and Antha's scrapes the skin from the back of his arm.

 _Thank God the safeties are on,_ he thinks, and then she is wrenching from side to side, trying to tear herself out of his arms.

"Don't you get it, I can't breathe!" She snatches her wrist from his hand in a sharp downward motion, preparing to elbow him; he tightens his arms before she can connect and the air leaves her lungs with a rough _oof!_

The tide of guilt rises again. He loosens his arms and opens his mouth to apologize, but before he can speak the deathclaw lets out another hellish scream. The ground trembles; a moment later debris rains down on the shelter like a hailstorm of concrete as the monster outside works itself into a frenzy of destruction.

Antha would never make it away in time - she has to know that, she must know that - and yet she won't stop fighting him, won't stop swearing at him under her breath as she jerks and twists in his arms, and as his anxiety spikes so does his irritation.

"Goddammit Antha, stop!" He seizes her wrist again, shoving it back into place against her chest before she can make another attempt at driving an elbow into his ribs. "I don't wanna hurt you! Y'think I'm happy holdin' you down against your will like some kinda friggin Raider?! I'm not! But if you go outside you're dead, understand me?! I can't help you out there! A headshot on a deathclaw don't do anything but piss it off!"

"I'd rather die outside than in this - this coffin!" She retorts, pulling her knees up as much as she can and trying to force him back. The barrel of his rifle gouges into his side as she pushes him and his temper flares all over again at the thought of the barrel getting bent out of shape, but he chokes it back.

Getting mad won't help...of course, listening to a deathclaw throw a tantrum right outside the door makes it difficult to relax.

MacCready takes a deep breath. When Duncan was two, he had realized how important it was to get ahold of his own emotions before trying to deal with anyone else's. Of course, just because he knew that didn't mean he'd been any good at it...and Antha is a grown woman, not a two year old. Still, he tries to remember how he used to talk to Duncan when the kid worked his way into a fit, tries to use that same tone of voice if not the same words. It's all he knows to do.

"Antha." He leans forward, pushing, forcing her to straighten her legs again, pinning her to the padded wall with his body. "Antha, listen to me. I need you to listen, okay?"

She leans her forehead against the wall and makes a few more attempts to break free; under other circumstances she might even succeed. Antha is strong and not much smaller than MacCready himself, but in a tight space with little room to maneuver, she can't get the upper hand.

_Thank God. We'd both be dead already._

"I don't wanna do this, boss," he continues, still doing his best to keep his voice calm despite the fearsome sounds outside the shelter and the ongoing hail of concrete. "I know you hate being in here, but I can't let you get eaten by a deathclaw, all right? I can't. And that's your only alternative. Understand?"

"Yeah." She speaks through her teeth. "But you don't."

"I understand you're claustrophobic as hell," he replies, and winces as a good-sized chunk of debris slams into the shelter hard enough to make it vibrate like a tuning fork. "I thought Vault dwellers were usually the opposite?"

"I wouldn't know," she mumbles.

MacCready frowns. He had only been trying to distract her, sure, but her response bewilders him. "I thought you said…?"

Antha tenses, trying to pull her wrists away, but he holds on tight.

"I'm from a Vault," she hisses. "But I wouldn't call what I did there dwelling. Let me go, goddammit."

"If I do, you promise not to get us killed?"

"I promise not to open this stupid fucking death box while the lizard monster is still outside, yes," she spits. "I make no promises about not killing you afterward."

"Hey, I'll take a bullet over a deathclaw any day." He sets her on her feet, releases her arms and backs away as much as the space will allow, but he keeps an eye on her movements, ready to grab her again if need be.

After a minute or so, the hail of debris stops; the deathclaw itself is still too close for comfort, screeching in fury over its lost prey. MacCready is trying to gauge its proximity by sound when Antha speaks.

"Mac."

"Yeah, boss?"

"Talk."

MacCready arches an eyebrow, peering down at Antha. She is still leaning her forehead against the shelter wall, arms crossed over her chest. He thinks she may be shaking.

"Boss…?"

"I don't care what you talk about, just talk," she snaps. "I need something else to focus on besides how it feels like the walls are closing in on me so if you don't want me to lose my shit again, start talking."

"All right, all right!" He takes off his hat and threads his fingers through his hair. "Uh, so, apparently female deathclaws are a lot more dangerous than males, I kinda figured that out the hard way a few years ago. I stumbled across a nest…"

For the next five minutes, MacCready rambles - though in the face of Antha's tense silence it feels more like five hours. He relays the story of the mama deathclaw he had disturbed, the cross-country chase that had ensued, and the terrifying, uncomfortable night he had spent barricaded inside a shipping container with nothing but a skeleton for company.

By the time he finishes, he realizes that his voice has trailed off into utter silence.

Antha makes no comment on the story. Not that he had expected it.

MacCready spends the next few minutes listening for any sounds, any disturbances outside the shelter. At length, he says, "I'm gonna open the door. But that don't mean you can go running like a bat outta hell, all right? Just because we can't hear it any more doesn't mean it isn't close by."

Antha nods; when she speaks her voice is weak. "I'll follow your lead. Just get me the fuck out of here, Mac."

They are still close enough that he can feel her shudder. Concerned and confused, he opens his mouth to ask if she's all right...then closes it.

 _None of my business,_ he tells himself, but the excuse rests uneasily on his heart.

"That's good," he mumbles, and reaches around to press the button, holding his breath as the door creaks open with more low, garbled words.

The world outside is silent.

MacCready turns and steps out of the shelter, swinging his rifle around into his hands, thumb hovering over the safety as he surveys the damage.

The suburb had already been a ruin with only a few buildings left standing, none of them whole: no roofs, most missing at least one wall. When he had spotted the deathclaw, they had been in front of one such building, a concrete and steel structure with three remaining walls.

There is now only one left; the deathclaw had reduced the rest to gravel. Deep claw marks gouge what's left of the last well. Chunks of concrete and jagged pieces of steel litter the cracked sidewalk beneath the shelter.

 _Lucky_ , he thinks, swallowing hard. _Oh man, we got lucky._

MacCready glances over his shoulder and waves Antha forward. She comes, her eyes hard and blank, her mouth set in a grim little line. With shaking hands she clutches her rifle, and MacCready prays she won't have to shoot.

After following the deathclaw's tracks far enough to be sure of the direction it had taken, MacCready doubles back and retraces his and Antha's steps until they are clear of the ruined suburb and back on the highway - the husks of pre-war cars offer them cover, but something as massive as a deathclaw would have no way to take them by surprise.

"All right," he sighs, lowering his rifle and swinging it behind his back. "All right, I think we're clear. Better take the long way, don't ya...boss? Hey!"

He had turned around to face Antha, prepared to argue about taking the longer route, but for a horrible moment he can't track her down. It isn't until he hears her swearing under her breath that he finds her, standing off to the side of the road with one hand propped against the rusted husk of a pickup truck, her face a ghoulish shade of grey. Before he can speak she mumbles another string of curses and doubles over, hands on her knees, and vomits silently onto the cracked asphalt.

A chill creeps up his spine and seizes him by the shoulders.

_That bad? Was it that bad for her?_

Shaken, he moves toward her...then stops himself short.

_None of my business._

It is far more difficult than it should be to lower his eyes and turn away, but MacCready makes himself do it, occupying himself with observing the area and keeping watch until Antha recovers.

It doesn't take long. She trudges up beside him a minute or two later, shoving a tiny flask into a pocket of her Vault suit and swishing something around in her mouth. When she spits off to the side, he smells vodka.

"So you said we can go around?" she asks, her voice flat, toneless.

"Yeah," he says, tearing his eyes away from her so that he won't see how pale she is, how distant and dull her eyes are. "Takes longer."

"How much longer?"

"Hour. Two, maybe, if we run into Raiders."

"All right."

Antha starts walking. MacCready watches her, wanting to say something, to apologize, to at least make sure she's up to the walk...

_None of my business._

The excuse is wearing thin, but for now, it holds. MacCready keeps his mouth shut and follows her, making a mental note to never let her go into tight spaces alone.


End file.
